


Jakes, Peter Jakes

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Cigarettes, Conversations, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Slash, Slice of Life, Teamwork, could be read as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 12:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: Jakes shakes his head as the witness closes her door behind them, pausing on the top step to light a cigarette. Morse turns, annoyed at the interruption.“Are you coming? It's just she actually gave us something useful, so now would be the time to follow up on that, not stop for a smoke.”





	Jakes, Peter Jakes

Jakes shakes his head as the witness closes her door behind them, pausing on the top step to light a cigarette. Morse turns, annoyed at the interruption, his frown deepening as he realises their minor height difference is exacerbated with him already halfway to the street, leaving him craning his neck to look Jakes in the eye.

“Are you coming? It's just she actually gave us something useful, so now would be the time to follow up on that, not stop for a smoke.”

Jakes snorts, but slinks down the steps. Morse huffs and stalks away, almost back at the Jag before Jakes has made it out the front gate. “You don't half rub people up the wrong way, you know that Morse,” he replies, folding himself into the car.

“Better than your 'yes mam, no mam' routine. Got what we wanted, didn't we?” Morse turns the Jag's key, sparing half a second to listen to the purr of the engine and run his hands lightly across the wheel.

“Thanks to me.”

Morse coughs pointedly, the cigarette smoke clouding around them with nowhere to go. When that fails, he slides the car into gear and pulls away, making a show of peering out the windscreen as if its totally obscured. Jakes reluctantly winds down his window, the November air rolling in a shock. “I mean it. You rile them up, I smooth them out again.”

“Is that what that was.”

“You've got to learn how to talk to people Morse.” His voice is patronising, but there's a new undercurrent of humour to his words that means they're probably not all at Morse's expense. They'd come to a half-way peace in recent weeks after all. It doesn't stop Morse rolling his eyes as he flicks on the indicator and turns into Turl Street. “Mind you,” adds Jakes, “maybe that's why the DI thinks we make a good team.”

“Hmm?” It was the first he'd heard of it, but then Thursday had been sending the two of them out together more.

“You piss 'em off enough that I come off as a knight in shining armour. Or bad cop, good cop.” There's a pause. “Dark and light. Scepticism and trust.” He clicks his fingers. “Dr No and James Bond.”

Morse lets out a brief, unbidden chuckle. “Come off it Jakes.”

The answering grin is wide, triumphant. “That's Sergeant Jakes to you, Constable. Or Jakes, Peter Jakes, if you must.” He absently runs a hand over his oiled hair, gaze fixed on the pedestrians they pass by.

Morse eyes him without turning his head. There's a passing resemblance to Sean Connery, he admits grudgingly – to himself only, of course, never to Jakes. Provided you didn't look further than dark hair, dark eyes, he further qualifies. He re-focuses on the road, and purposefully takes a corner rather too quickly, sending Jakes, Peter Jakes, sprawling into the car door and his cigarette – happily, though truly accidentally – out of the window. “Sorry Sergeant. Must be my inner villain, thinks its in for a car chase.”

Jakes laughs, loud. “All right. Though I think its best you remain as much on the side of light as you can, god forbid we have to solve one of your murder sprees.”

It shocks him, that Jakes thinks he'd make a good villain. He should be insulted, but instead feels a curl of pride that Oxford's finest fears going up against him. That Jakes – golden boy station – thinks he'd fail in a battle of wits between the two of them. Even more so that he'd admit it. Morse's lips curl into a smirk, that he hides by checking the road to the right. “I'll try my best,” he quips, weak, after a moment too long.

Jakes rifles in his pockets and extracts his packet of cigarettes as they pull up to the home of their new lead. Morse puts on the handbrake, jolting slightly at the clap of Jakes' hand on his shoulder. “You do that Morse.”

 


End file.
